Be That Guy (or, Sloppy Home Runs)
by Lyraeon
Summary: Just like any other good red-blooded American teenage male, Dave has reached that special time in his life where he desperately wants to bury his gun in his girlfriend's holster. But there's a few problems with that plan - like that the Texan public school system has left him the exact opposite of mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with extraterrestrial anatomical differences


**A/N:** FFN and Homestuck fic just don't work very well together. Me throwing this up on here instead of just sticking with AO3 only just proves I'm a glutton for punishment.  
Ah well.  
Warnings for tentabulges and Dave referencing stupid bullying shit that happened in middle school.

* * *

**Be That Guy**, or, **Sloppy Home Runs**  
_Lyraeon_

-o-o-

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are very certain your girlfriend's dick is wiggling against your thigh.

It's not the first time this has happened, but it's probably the first time you've let yourself admit that's what you're feeling, and definitely the first time you haven't tried to excuse yourself thirty seconds later. It's a subject you've been dodging for a few weeks now thanks to the magic of hormones. Compatible anatomy was not on the list of things you expected to have to worry about when it came time to end your virginity, even after you found yourself going steady with an alien from another universe.

Honestly, you blame Hollywood – Kirk never had any problems banging any hot green chicks.

You made the godawful mistake of trying to ask Karkat of all people for fucking anatomy lessons after the last time, and after his reaction, it's honestly a wonder your dick even works.

DAVE: yo karkat  
DAVE: its time for the stupid human question of the day  
KARKAT: OH GREAT. WHEN YOU PREFACE IT LIKE THAT I JUST KNOW I'M GOING TO LOVE WHATEVER YOU'RE GOING TO SAY NEXT.  
KARKAT: PLEASE, DAVE, REGALE ME WITH THE LATEST IDLE WONDERINGS OF YOUR INFERIOR HUMAN THINKPAN. AFTER ALL IT'S ALWAYS THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY FUCKING DAY.  
KARKAT: IT'S NOT AS IF I HAVE ANYTHING MORE IMPORTANT TO BE DOING. UNLESS SOME ASSHOLE GHOSTS SHOW UP, BUT THEN MAYBE THEY CAN PROVIDE YOU WITH GLORIOUS FUCKING CLAMBEADS OF WISDOM AS WELL.  
DAVE: oh sweet youre already good and pissed off  
DAVE: makes my job easier  
KARKAT: IF YOU'RE GOING TO IGNORE YOUR OWN CULTURAL PRACTICE OF SARCASM, I SUPPOSE I MIGHT AS WELL PLAY ALONG.  
KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, DAVE.  
DAVE: ok so  
DAVE: were friends and shit right?  
DAVE: and friends can ask each other stupid ass questions  
KARKAT: FRIENDS CAN DO THAT.  
KARKAT: BUT FRIENDS DON'T WASTE TEN DAMN MINUTES ON BULLSHIT INSTEAD OF HURRYING UP AND ASKING WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS THEY WANT TO ASK.  
DAVE: ok ok fine  
DAVE: ok so  
DAVE: my question is  
DAVE: buckets  
DAVE: what is up with the whole bucket thing  
KARKAT: ...WHAT  
DAVE: i mean how does that actually wo-  
KARKAT: YOU HAVE ACCESS TO MY ENTIRE UNIVERSE'S INTERNET AND YOU STILL CHOOSE TO COME ASK ME.  
DAVE: yeah well i cant exactly read trollanese  
KARKAT: ALTERNIAN.  
DAVE: space letters  
DAVE: plus i figured asking was way less likely to bring up weird porn sites  
DAVE: oh hey dave why does your computer have rainbow dongs popping up every time i try to play solitaire  
DAVE: oh i dont know probably some virus i got from some troll porn page  
KARKAT: I FAIL TO SEE HOW YOUR LACK OF ANTIVIRUS SOFTWARE WOULD INCONVENIENCE ANYONE ELSE.  
DAVE: ok cool let me borrow your crabtop to look up porn on then  
DAVE: you can tell me what to type in  
KARKAT: FIRST OF ALL, NO. SECOND OF ALL, FUCK NO. THIRD, IS THERE A POINT AT ALL TO YOUR SUDDEN PERVERTED CURIOSITY OR ARE YOU JUST TRYING TO PISS ME OFF.  
DAVE: look  
DAVE: all im really trying to ask is do troll girls have to sit down to pee  
KARKAT: WHAT THE HELL KIND OF A FUCKING QUESTION IS THAT?!  
KARKAT: AM I THE ONLY ONE ON THIS METEOR WITHOUT SOME FREAKY FETISH?  
KARKAT: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? DID I REALLY FUCK UP THAT BAD IN CREATING YOUR WHOLE FUCKING SPECIES THAT THIS IS WHAT YOU SPEND YOUR DAYS WONDERING? THE URINATION HABITS OF OTHER SPECIES? OR IS IT AN AFFLICTION UNIQUE TO YOU SO I CAN PASS THE BLAME TO PARADOX SPACE?  
DAVE: well its not really the pissing im wondering about  
DAVE: its more  
DAVE: the dicks  
DAVE: or bulges or whatever the fuck you guys call them  
DAVE: and by that i mean whether or not the girls have them  
KARKAT: HOW FUCKING STUPID ARE YOU THAT THAT IS EVEN A QUESTION. OR ARE HUMANS SO UNEDUCATED THAT THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW ANATOM-  
KARKAT: WAIT  
KARKAT: WHY ARE YOU EVEN ASKING THIS  
KARKAT: WHY ARE YOU CONCERNED ABOUT-  
KARKAT: ARE YOU TRYING TO PAIL WITH- WITH TER-  
DAVE: whoa dude lets not get ahead of ourselves here ive got a couple bases to work on first  
KARKAT: OH MY GOD. IT'S WORSE THAN I THOUGHT.  
KARKAT: MAKEOUTS I COULD AT LEAST IGNORE. BUT THIS. THIS IS SO SICK AND WRONG.  
KARKAT: I SHOULD HAVE STAYED BEHIND WITH SOLLUX.

In all fairness, you're not sure Terezi bothered to break up with him before your first interspecies sloppy makeouts commenced, so you can't fully blame his anger. Just the same, he's a jackass, and you were right on the money when you assumed asking your dear sister about the subject instead would be even more awkward. Still, if you'd known you were ultimately going to have to ask both of them before getting any remotely useful information, you would have just skipped straight to the eyebrow-wiggle loaded conversation with Rose.

DAVE: rose i need some info  
DAVE: and i just had the dumbest conversation of my artificially born life  
DAVE: so im going to cut to the chase  
ROSE: And what chase might you be cleaving toward here? You look fairly flustered.  
DAVE: look we both have been datin troll girls for a long time  
DAVE: and i guess my point is  
DAVE: are troll girls like human girls  
ROSE: Am I to assume you're inquiring about physical matters, as they would relate to your pheromone-fueled relationship with Terezi?  
DAVE: yeah that  
ROSE: Aww, how sweet, my little brother is seeking advice for his journey into the wonderful world of xenophilia.  
DAVE: ok without touching the rest of what you just said  
DAVE: do you have any idea how many extra weeks older i am because of time loops  
ROSE: Do you?  
DAVE: actually no  
DAVE: i lost count at some point  
DAVE: but can we not make this any more awkward than it already is  
ROSE: All right, that seems fair, since I'm assuming from the echoes through the ventilation shafts and the rather sternly worded memo-  
DAVE: he wrote a fuckin memo?  
DAVE: shit  
ROSE: -that Karkat has given you more than enough of an earful for the day.  
ROSE: I'll take that as a yes. Did he give you any useful information, or do I need to start at the beginning?  
ROSE: Wait silly me, you said "are troll girls like human girls", so I'm guessing I need to start with basic anatomy lessons.  
DAVE: ugh  
ROSE: Don't worry. By the time you've completed Lalonde University's course in Intimate Xenobiology, you'll be eligible to become successor to my title of Grandmaster of Interspecies Pleasure.  
DAVE: ok whatever  
DAVE: just dont draw any diagrams

True to your request, no diagrams were drawn – though there were a few already in the books she picked out as learning tools. But then the moonshine came out around the same time as what you're sure was the Troll version of the Kama Sutra, and the personal details Rose was slipping in started to shift from "rubbing your virginity in your face" to "great now I'm never getting that image out of my head again, thanks" level. You absconded the fuck out of there, hoping to get an evening to yourself to process all this new information.

But of course, Terezi had to go and prove herself the master of sniffing you out yet again less than an hour later, and even with all this new information mucking up your mind, her damn grin alone is almost enough to make you crack a smirk.

For right now, you're trying to just concentrate on the tongue at your ear, and the breath and words behind it, and not worry about the fact you didn't realize your internet alien girlfriend was a hermaphrodite before falling head over heels in ironic coolkid lust with her and her borderline creepy laugh. The fact that the words are all about how damn good your blood smells and that her teeth are sharper than a bear trap make them an incredibly tiny measure of comfort, but these fucking things called emotions mean you're still as hard as the concrete floor under your ass just from the familiar cadence of her sentences. Hell, by now even the pattern of her breathing is familiar and arousing in a way that exaggerated sniffing has no right to be, and it's getting harder and harder to hold a straight face the longer she has her head buried in your neck.

You're holding your own breath, fighting back every ounce of gay panic that public middle school managed to instill in you. Dick or not, she's still a chick, so it's not like her grinding on you makes you gay. It's not like there's anything wrong with being gay either; both your bro-dad and your slime sister are more homo than the dairy section, and they're easily the coolest people you know. It's just a godawful mindset that one too many jackasses in the locker room left you in, one that you're pretty sure is going to take at least a few rolls in the hay to snap you entirely out of, even with the knowledge that jocks are now an extinct sub-species.

She giggles your name by your ear, giving it more As than it should have. "D444V3. J3GUS D4V3. YOU T4ST3-" she pauses as she gives you another hard lick, right on your carotid. You imagine that must be the best place to taste your blood, because second to your mouth it's her favorite place to kiss you. Just as you start to ponder whether Rose has to put up with anything similar, what with her vampire girlfriend, the licking gives way to another hard sniff.

You wish the sound, and the hot exhale that follows, didn't send a jolt of electricity straight to your junk, but of course it does. With your combined civilizations down to maybe a dozen members, it probably doesn't matter if she's giving you awkward fetishes, but you're still wondering how much laundry you're in for next time someone has a cold. A contented sigh follows another sniff, one laced with an undeniably sexual groan, and you finally let the hand at her waist pull her a little closer.

Another twitch, this time right up against your crotch, and you're caught in equal parts moan at the friction and cringe. You try to convince yourself that was only her hips rolling. It fails miserably because fuck, hips don't wiggle like that; in fact, the only thing you can think of that does is tongues, and you know damn well that's no tongue.

You give a little twitch as you stifle a laugh at the intruding mental image of a crotch tongue. Terezi doesn't seem to notice. Good deal.

Then the heat of her breath leaves your neck, and before you can object, you find your shades pushed up your face and past your hairline and you know your bangs must look like shit like this but you also know that's not where she's looking, or sniffing, or whatever. You know because there's a nose uncomfortably close to your eye, taking a deep breath that makes you squint, but you don't turn away. Not anymore. You used to, but she's done this before, taken in the vivid red of your irises, and it's weird but it's marginally preferable to her making you bleed so you don't even pay attention by now. Plus, it's always accompanied by her fingers in your hair, and those same claws you're always a little worried are going to tear holes in your shirt feel like fucking heaven on your scalp.

As she shifts against you and you hear her glasses clack to the floor beside you, it occurs to you exactly how many times you've been through this routine by now. How long you've been putting shit off.

Or maybe it's just time bullshit catching up to you again and it's not nearly as bad as you think it is. Fuck if you know anymore.

Terezi's whole face presses close to yours, her broad nose squishing yours uncomfortably flat as she leans your foreheads together. As always, her grin is wide enough that you can see it in her cheeks and the way they distort her eyes. Maybe it's just their similarity to her sunglasses, but the unblinking, vivid red of her scarred corneas doesn't even faze you anymore. Not in the "I'm gonna pretend to save my cool" way either, not that that was ever a thing, or at least not a thing that lasted more than like five minutes. They're just another part of your girlfriend that you're totally chill with at this stage.

Like the blatantly maniacal giggle that follows as she runs her tongue across your lips. Not even a thing anymore. Or her tongue itself, thinner and more flexible than yours and definitely long enough that tonsil hockey's a pretty literal metaphor with her. Or the serrated row of teeth that sink into your bottom lip a moment later, because with her, kisses go straight from "lick on the cheek" to the aforementioned tonsil hockey to miniature scale medieval fantasy gladiatorial combat (and naturally she's the dragon) (and that was definitely just another overly literal metaphor, not some kind of fifteen second mental role play scenario).

Or, you realize as she doesn't even try to hide the next grind against your stomach, the fact she has something that can be pretty safely called a dick. At least, hopefully. Soon. You'd love for that part to be as casually no big of a deal as the taste of blood in your mouth or the sensation of claws digging through your shirt into your shoulder. Because the rest of this? Is all pretty fucking awesome, not that anyone asked, and you don't feel like being That Guy and having that be the deal breaker. Your Bro raised you better than that.

Also, because you're sure as hell not dying a virgin. Enough yous have done that already, and at least one of them has told you outright that that shit ain't acceptable. Maybe as many as three. At the same time. With a broken sword pressed to the seam of your god PJs and another to a groove between your ribs. But then again maybe it was just one, being all anecdotal about shit, without any threats implied. Just friendly bullshit, Dave-to-Dave.

She catches your bottom lip between her teeth gently – with her, that just means she's not drawing blood – and pries your mouth open so she can kiss you properly. By now she's outright straddling you, and there's no way she can't feel how hard you are, but that's assuming she's even paying attention to how you're pressed together and not just to your mouth. Her lips crush against yours clumsily, tongue pillaging your mouth with all the finesse of a three-year-old playing a crane game, and you have no idea if she's breathing this heavily because she's aroused or because she's just enjoying how red your mouth is. It occurs to you, however, that you honestly don't care either way, because it's getting to the point that your pants seem painfully tight, and her weight isn't helping, and your dick is definitely threatening mutiny if you sentence it to another night with your hand.

Her nails trace the damp line she left on your neck. You couldn't hold back the way you groan into her mouth, even if you wanted to. She giggles breathily and goes right on kissing you, stopping only to wipe her chin when things get too sloppy for a moment.

"pause," you manage, twisting off to kiss the corner of her mouth. Normally that's code for "someone's at the door", so she looks understandably confused, until you smirk and tell her, "shirt off" It's far from the first time you've gotten that far, so you already know she doesn't react to having her boobs touched the way human chicks do (in porn, at least), but she gives an enthusiastic shriek and pulls off her shirt in record time, her bra coming off right after.

Not for the first time, you wonder how she gets her clothes on and off without poking holes in them with her horns. They're – unfortunately for your chin on a few occasions – as sharp as they look. The unusual part is that this time you're purposefully trying to distract yourself with them, trying to will just a little blood flow away from your dick so you can do something akin to thinking.

Then Terezi grabs your hand and thrusts it against her chest, and all you can feel is hard nipple against your palm and squishy flesh under your fingers.

You're gone, you're history, you're going to die right here and you better damn well hope it's not Just because it sure as fuck isn't Heroic.

You wind up palming both her breasts at once, her mouth traversing your lips and jaw line wildly, and at some point you start to taste copper but you stopped caring about that sort of shit months ago. A few firm squeezes later, you let your fingers trail off to her sides, thumbs giving her nipples quick flicks back and forth. That elicits more giggling, another trill of your name in your ear, and you know the whole thing is a ritual by now because of how instinctual every motion is. A ritual that has ended several times too many in you making some horribly half-assed excuse as to why you were keeping your pants on, followed by her sulking off to her room to do things that you couldn't imagine before today and which the thought of isn't killing your boner as badly as you expected.

You push it to the back of your mind again anyway, because tonight there won't be any sulking off on either of your parts. Tonight you are making this happen, inevitable webcomic references and all.

Another, rougher squeeze of her breasts and her fingers are in your hair, nails scratching across your scalp in a way that's taken you months to accept as non-threatening and now only takes seconds to make you break your poker face and moan against her cheek. Your hands trace further down, following the obvious rise of each rib in turn. Terezi is all skin, bone, and sinew, every joint as sharp as her horns and teeth; your fingertips fit perfectly into the taut grooves between the bones on her sides. You still don't know if that's a troll thing or a she'd forget to eat actual food if you and Kanaya didn't put it in front of her thing, because you've never seen another troll naked and you don't really care to. The only time you mind is when she sits on your lap too long and her pelvis starts to kill the circulation in your legs. The rest of the time, you don't process much besides her grin anyway. As dangerous as all her points and edges are, letting her face out of your sight long enough for her to plan something is far worse.

She proves your point by grabbing the collar of your shirt firmly with one hand and letting out another shrill laugh as she pulls it into her inventory with an audible click, leaving your bare chests pressed together.

"i think im old enough to undress myself," you complain half-heartedly.

"TH1S W4S 34S13R. NOW YOU DO NOT H4V3 TO STOP."

"touche"

You ghost your palms over the hard ridges on her sides as retaliation. She squeaks, which is about the least Terezi-like sound she's capable of making, her posture faltering for a split second. If you didn't know better, you'd think you'd hurt her, but you've dealt with the sensitive dark teal scars before. Plus you know if you _had_ hurt her, you'd be in a lot more pain than the slight dig of nails into your shoulder she's subjecting you to. It's the closest she's got to a ticklish spot; light brushes there make her twitch and giggle, while firm presses of your fingers or tongue along their length make her squirm on your lap and let out the kind of breathy moans you'd expect to get from her breasts if she were human.

You let your thumbs press into them more the way she likes, earning a rough roll of her hips against yours.

You have to bury your lips in the side of her neck to hide your moan, and the noise she makes back tells you she definitely noticed the way you rolled with her.

She raises her arms to give your hands more room, which shoves your face further into the crook of her neck, not that you mind. Her fingers are still combing through your hair, her own face just as hidden among your locks as yours is in the heat of her skin. You hear her sniffing hard, then letting out a satisfied chuckle. You have to laugh to yourself, because you know she's not smelling the light floral Rose's shampoo - you gave up using yours a year ago because fuck knows if the Axe Effect even works on alien chicks and hers made your hair feel nicer - but the banana she's always ID'd your hair as. (_TH3 D3L1C1OUS 1NS1D3S OF 4 B4N4N4_, she's clarified more than once, _NOT TH3 UGLY SPLOTHCY WR4PP3R._) You're still not sure when you became okay with being described with banana, cherry, cranberry, cream, and the rest of a list that sounded like a Jamba recipe, but fuck it. This girl is crazy about you and that's the one thing on this meteor you're not going to complain about.

You pull back and go for another of her signature very tonguey kisses just for emphasis. She's more than happy to indulge you.

Next thing you know, your face is nestled into her shallow cleavage, her cackling as enthusiastic as ever from above your head. One slender hand is holding you against her, grip firm and pointy but not forceful; the other squeezes your shoulder approvingly when you give her skin a long lick.

It's funny; thanks to movies and porn and the eighth graders ahead of you, you always expected second base to be a lot of sucking and hickeys and wearing headphones around your neck to cover them. Instead you got Terezi, who you're pretty sure wouldn't use her lips at all if they weren't located so conveniently between her tongue and your skin most of the time, and who you quickly realized responds best to the same treatment. The only times you've had anything on your neck to hide, it's always been tooth marks from where she's gotten carried away. (She's good about asking if she can taste the red of your blood directly nowadays.) The couple of times you've left marks on her in return - both the deep sea-green hickeys that fade to brown-black smudges within a day's time, because trolls heal faster than humans, and the one time you proved to her that your pathetically blunt teeth could break her skin if you tried hard enough - she's been quick to show the marks off to everyone. She even went so far as to ask Kanaya to feed on her arm instead so as not to mar her "trophies". The whole affair was a hell of a lot more embarrassing than you expected it to be. Not that you let on.

Your tongue works its way up the rise of one breast, wasting no time in reaching the tightened, silky center and closing your lips around it. You can hear - no, _feel_ - the low rattling rumble coming from her chest, like purring if purring were bowling with suits of armor for pins. Another thing on that long list of things you've learned to be totally chill with, especially because it's a noise she only makes when you're doing things right.

Now that she's up on her knees, the heat of her body is just out of reach of your hips, and you're not sure if that's better or worse than the grinding you've been doing for the last few minutes. You close your eyes, trying to imagine the scene as she might see it, searching for something to prolong your exploration a little longer and block out the painful tightness of your pants.

As always, you're at a loss for what flavors to assign to any shade of her skin or blood. She's said herself that troll grey smells drab and boring, but you're sure there must be something out there that matches her blood, or at least the in between shade of her tongue and scars. Wintermint has come to mind, and you've decided to go with that until you think of something better. Her lips and nipples, along with the occasional thin line that seems to be their version of freckles, are much easier - those have gotta be licorice.

You're pulled out of your thoughts and somewhat aggressive tasting of her skin by a breathy, insistent call of your name. From her tone, she's probably been trying to get your attention for a few seconds, but you've been so busy trying to distract yourself from your boner - and hers - that you were too distracted to notice.

"sup babe?" you ask, chin resting against her saliva-damp skin. You try to add a coy smirk, but it's a little hard to do so when you're honestly a bit short on breath from how long you've been kissing her.

"YOUR H4NDS," she groans, and she sounds somewhere between approving and in pain.

"what about-"

Oh hey would you look at that, apparently while your mind was otherwise occupied your hands have made their way down to Terezi's ass. Oops? It's not like you haven't grabbed it before. Or slapped it jokingly in the hall, only to have your own swatted much harder in retaliation. Or used it as a fairly uncomfortable pillow. Or slightly less uncomfortable footrest. But this is admittedly the firmest and most prolonged grip you've ever had on a butt (because the smuppet teddy bear you had until age 7 totally doesn't count here).

You let go. Well, really, you just soften your grip, because fuck if you know where else you'd put your hands right now, and while her ass isn't great in the way of furniture it's pretty good from an anatomy perspective. You rub your palms into the rough fabric of her jeans, let your thumbs trace back across the surprisingly smooth skin just above her waistband and along the crumpled elastic showing above her pants, let your fingers slip into her back pockets a little.

"that better?" The coy smirk actually works this time, and from the quick wrinkle of her nose before her lips spread into another enthusiastic grin, you think she might even have noticed it. Score.

"YOU 4R3 4LW4YS 4 G3NTL3M4N," she answers, craning her neck to lick your lips.

"damn straight"

Then, instead of licking your lips, she's licking your tongue again. It's a matter of seconds before one of your hands has forsaken the pleasant curve of her derriere in favor of tangling into her hair and holding your mouths tightly together. Because as much as you adore running your tongue over the rest of her, feeling hers try to root out every last bit of _raspberry-watermelon_ and_vanilla milkshake_ from your mouth is the superior option any day. Y'know, now that you're used to it.

Her hands drop away from your shoulders and neck, her nails resuming their lazy scratching up and down your back - hard enough to leave pale streaks in their wake for a few seconds, but too soft to draw blood or leave red marks after. Trolls are _the best_ at scratching itches. It actually took her far less time than you expected to understand what constituted "too hard" - her skin's not much thicker than yours, her pain tolerance is just far, far higher, which is saying something as Bro trained yours to a finer point than the horn you've now got your fingers loosely wrapped around the base of. You learned real early on that actually grabbing her horns was an act of totally the wrong corner of troll romance. It's not a mistake you plan to mak again. Still, the circumference and your thumb fit together _so nice_ that you always kind of hook your hand there when your faces are together for any length of time, and that much has seemed fine. You're glad, because you like that throaty rattle of hers even more when she's all wrapped around you like this.

Except, oh god, moving your attention back to her face means she's slipped back down into your lap, and she's rocking a little with the rhythm of her nails up and down your back. That little is more than enough because you've been stalling for way too long as is and the applicable adjectives for your pants have definitely shifted from "uncomfortable" into "painful" territory.

You pull free from her lips, gasping louder - _way_ louder - than you meant to, have to keep your eyes shut because you can't form coherent thoughts with this much sensory overload going on and Terezi is in no hurry to give your touch or hearing a break.

Her next rock/squirm against you officially tips the scale in painful's favor. You let out a noise that couldn't be distorted into any form of cool no matter what mind tricks or audio filters you ran it through. If Terezi recognizes it as anything but pain, she doesn't let on; instead, her nails pull away from your skin, too-calloused pads of her fingers rubbing gingerly in their place, instinctively checking you for puncture wounds that might explain your yelp. Your own hand grips her hip again, but this time it's blatantly to hold her still.

Her pelvis stills. Her pants do not.

You manage a more dignified noise this time by a matter of opinion only, but the jury is mercifully absent from these proceedings anyway.

She lets out her own (far less desperate, far sexier) breathy moan against your cheek. A couple deep whiffs later, her nose is squished against yours again, and you're very aware of a slight sweaty dampness to the mess of bangs crumpled between your foreheads. Of course, this awareness comes as a matter of choice and concentration, as you try to will enough of your blood back to the vicinity of your brain to form a more eloquent version of your intended proposition than "want sex now".

You feel like cursing your anatomy when she still manages to start talking before you do.

"WH4TS TH3 M4TT3R COOLK1D? YOU 4BOUT TO P41L 1N YOUR P4NTS?"

"whoa thats quite the assumption there lets not jump any guns. especially not ones that are still in their holster"

She actually manages to contain all but the first shriek of her laughter into quiet chuckles. "OH MY GOG YOU TOT4LLY 4R3."

"hell no"

"DO YOU N33D TO 3XCUS3 YOURS3LF TO TH3 L1TTL3 GRUBS ROOM 4G41N?" If she wasn't laughing at you so hard, you'd think there was a little fear in her question. Actually there probably still is. You've come this far before - hell, you've had her hand as wrapped around your dong as it can get with pajamas still in the way - only to dart off, and you've never had any doubt she had just as much sexual frustration to work off on her own after as you did. But, thankfully for you both, mocking you is taking center stage right now.

"nah," you answer, wrinkling your nose so it squishes hers a little more. Far below, there's no longer any motion against your crotch, but you can feel her restraint in the little shivery twitches of her claws against your shoulder blades. You take a deep breath, pull your face back just far enough that you can see all of hers, and move your hand from in her hair to just barely holding it back from her cheek. Her head gains the barest tilt, nose angling to read your expression better, and for a split second, you think about how confident she always looks with her chin held that high, like there is literally nothing she can't or won't say or do, like she's always daring you to just try and one-up her.

Fuck. You are absolutely crazy for this psychotic bitch.

"tz," you begin, letting your thumb brush sappily across the cheek it's cupping, "ive got something extremely important to tell you"

She cackles, lets her smile reform far enough to show the top row of her shark's maw. "WH4T 1S 1T D4V3?"

You cock one eyebrow, bring back the smirk, nearly lose it again as your brain forms three hundred variations of _oh fuck why am I not wearing my shades_, because fuck if you can look a girl in the eye directly for something like this, even if she can't actually see yours.

"miss pyrope i believe it is high time we do the do"

There's a short pause before she answers, a single blink, a flicker of the corners of her lips, and it's just enough time for your heart to completely fuck up a kickflip and hope the delay is just her processing your metaphor on its way to the pavement. Then the grin is back, wider than ever, not that you can see most of it because suddenly her face is pressed to yours again, and there's only the slightest tinge of crazy to the way she giggles as she answers, "1 THOUGHT YOU'D N3V3R 4SK."

She kisses you, all lips and fingers in your hair and shockingly little tongue, but the force of it nearly topples you backward. It's brief and chaste by Terezi standards; it's hard to tell if she's trying to be sweet or if she's just in a hurry to get a taste of new sections of your anatomy. You suppose it's both.

You regret that supposition less than thirty seconds later. She's slipped down to your lap with unsurprising haste and made equally quick work of your fly. Now her tongue is in your navel, which means her too-wide smile is suddenly reminding you of the proximity between the sharp things known as her teeth and the vital thing known as your dick and the reason why you've had very few blowjob fantasies since finding out Rose was your sister.

Your hands race for her shoulders with every attempt to push her back, various excuses about ladies first or about giving her a guided tour rattling around in your brain in search of an exit. In the next instant, that lotto's cancelled, boom, over, no numbers drawn, no refunds given, because her breath on your dick is apparently your own existential E-brake.

Your hands are frozen a few inches from Terezi's shoulders and you can't seem to remember why you were reaching for her to begin with. Were you gonna push her hair back out of the way? Help move your boxers? But your boxers seem fine for now, your dick poking out through the fly. So instead, you just slowly will them forward until both hands are resting gently on her shoulders, your thumbs accidentally brushing a few strands of hair free to hang with the rest.

Another rush of air and your grip tightens, just for a split second. Overall her body temperature's always just a hair lower than yours, so her breath is undeniably cooler than little Dave, but it's still warmer than your pants were or the surrounding air is. Another, and this time you hear the sniff before it, and when you whine a little - half because the anticipation is killing you and half because it's now dawned on you that your girlfriend is essentially staring down your dick and studying it, just with her nose - she giggles spitefully. God _damn_, you can even feel the little puffs of air from her laughter, you are that hard right now.

"T3LL M3 COOLK1D," she muses, teal-grey tongue tracing her lips until they glisten.

It should be something out of a bad goth smut movie on a channel a few levels of parental control deeper than Cinemax, but you can't focus on that right now - hell, you can't even focus on _oh shit sharp teeth_ past the chorus of _ITS HAPPENING_ between your ears. You barely register what she's actually even saying to you, but you make yourself focus that far just in case you need to spit out any answers other than "hell yeah".

"...DO 4LL OF YOUR HUM4N UND3RG4RM3NTS B34R TH3 1M4G3 OF TH3 F4MOUS C4RTOON CURDROD3NT, OR ONLY TH3 P41RS YOU H4V3 S33N F1T TO GR4C3 MY NOSTR1LS W1TH?"

Yeah okay, you wish you were still wearing your shades because damn that is a lot of confusion to hide and a very small fraction of your brain still functioning to do it with. You glance further down, because just looking at your boxers sounds easier than figuring out what a curdrodent is right now, and oh would you look at that, your buddy Mickey is rockin out on your crotch and your dick is protruding from hilariously close to his left eye. You didn't realize there was a precedent for wearing Disney skivvies in Terezi's presence but they were three packs for ten bucks at some point so Bro filled a whole drawer for you one Christmas, and boxers are about the only thing besides god PJs you haven't grown out of yet.

"only the best for you babe," you answer, making sure you wait just long enough to make the pause seem entirely intentional.

She laughs, shrill and enthusiastic like some rare rainforest bird, and launches herself back at your lips. One arm drapes around your neck to hold herself up, leaving you bowed forward and your hands hanging awkwardly at her sides. You kiss back, trying not to act too disappointed that her tongue is back to playing with yours instead of with your dick.

You don't have to pretend long, because she fixes that problem. Except with her fingers. You jolt under the alien - ha - sensation of someone else's touch as she wastes no time wrapping her hand around your tenderest bits. You'd expected at least a little hesitation, some kind of recoil or ginger exploration before full contact, but nope, Terezi is nothing if not eager to try new things. You'd hoped for at least a little bit of horrified hesitation, if only to make your own uneasiness seem less rude by comparison, but unfortunately it seems she's been doing research.

You're not sure if the image of her poised with her nose against some guy's digitized dong on a computer monitor, the pixels fragmented and blurred into prismatic rainbows by the slimy trail of her drool across the screen, is more hilarious or alarming.

Clearly she can tell you're drifting off into distractionville again, because she squeezes little Dave pretty hard. Not painfully, but still roughly enough you have to break away from the kiss you'd almost forgotten you were fuckdeep in, and hooooooookay, shit, you can feel where the little lines and creases of her palm are up against your dick, and her thumb is definitely stroking the bare stretch between your head and foreskin like the texture is more fascinating to her than girl scout cookies to a pothead, and it probably is, and god damn you are going to have to figure out who provided her with research materials and fucking kiss them because you are thirty seconds into third base and you're already ready to give up going solo.

"fuck, tz, youve had practice at this havent you," you groan, mock-accusatory.

She giggle-cackles, nose pressing to yours again. "DON'T G3T TOO 3XC1T3D," she teases. You lick her lips to spite her, and she responds by lathing you from chin to forehead. You remain unfazed. Or more accurately, too focused on the feeling of her bony, scarred, shockingly soft hand jerking you off only slightly too literally for your tastes.

Okay, maybe there are advantages to having a girlfriend with a dick. Even a freaky-weird alien squiddle dick. Like that they are significantly better at choking the chicken than you had been lead by your peers to believe ladies your age were on average.

She takes another long, wet lap at your throat and up under your jaw, and you can guess from the way she pauses and presses a little harder when you moan that she can feel the vibrations from the noise. You don't quite mind the heat either, and you definitely don't mind the way she strokes you harder still to coax more sounds from you, so you let your head tilt back and don't hide any noise within or below your normal vocal range. The little squeaks can fuck off, she's gotten two too many of those out of you tonight and those are not going to be a part of the legacy of your first time.

Then she's the one whimpering when your lips slide back together, and it's not the cute needy noises you're used to when things start getting hot between you. They're more desperate, almost pained, and instinctively you find yourself stroking the back of her head, trying to comfort her.

You don't even have to ask what's wrong - at least, not once you think about it for two lousy seconds. If your dick felt like it was in prison, her bulge thing must be in purgatory, especially with how tight her jeans felt across her ass.

"hey now," you manage, using your nose to push hers to the side so you can speak against her ear, "last i checked it was rude to keep a lady waiting"

You don't bother asking why she was hesitating, because you've got an idiotically long track record of retreat and a longer one of not keeping your word. Instead you just brace yourself for the rush of cold air when she lets go of your length, and let what's left of your brainpower to wonder if you shouldn't be finding a bed to lay her down on or something.

"TOO B4D YOU'R3 NOT 4 L4DY," she quips predictably, kissing your nose. All the bracing in the world doesn't stop you from gritting your teeth in disappointment when she lets go to stand up.

"youre right im not," you answer. Your hand instinctively goes for between your legs, trying to pick up where she left off, but you manage to stop yourself. You cover for your haste by pulling your boxers down so the elastic is below your cock instead. "im more of a common street harlot"

"TH3N 1 GU3SS 1 DON'T H4V3 TO F33L B4D 4BOUT SULLY1NG YOUR INNOC3NC3."

"hey lets not be hasty or anything"

You look up finally, and she's got that expression on, the one that says you've gone so deep not even she can tell if you're kidding or not anymore, and while her jeans are unbuttoned, her hand is still hovering over them. She's simultaneously beautiful and scary from this angle, her small frame looming over you with one foot astride each of your thighs. You're pretty sure that back on earth, you'd never have a chance with someone as amazing as her, and right now you'd be under the skirt of some airhead who hung on your every word just because you can rhyme four lines in a row.

You're also pretty sure that if you botch things again, you're not getting another chance at this.

"ive got first dibs on all innocence sullying, deal?"

"YOU DR1V3 4 H4RD B4RG41N," she answers. Her zipper is down before the last syllable leaves her mouth.

There's no turning back now. It's a day you thought would never come, but your hormonal teenage brain is hopelessly obsessed with getting your dick into whatever hot, wet, tight, extraterrestrial excuse for a pussy she has, and she seems pretty intent on the same, if the speed with which she's managing to get her pants off is any indication.

Hell yeah.

Your name is Dave Strider, God of Time, and bitches want you.

Well, bitch singular. And you're pretty sure ever calling her that would qualify as a Just death, not that you'd be likely to anyway. But the sentiment is there. You are totally about to single-handedly halve the number of remaining virgins in the human race.

You follow the path of Terezi's jeans and boxers - were those little scalemates? Fuck, they totally were, Mickey's got competition - across the room, then glance back up at her, letting your gaze drift slowly up her nearest leg. You were hoping to get a few seconds to ignore the obvious, to enjoy the gleam of her strangely teal juices on her thigh or some other fanfic level shit, but your eyes are drawn to the motion as directly and mysteriously as bare feet to a Lego in shag carpet.

To your simultaneous relief and alarm, your girlfriend's dick looks nothing like a dick. Rose's assertion that it was "almost Lovecraftian in nature" was definitely well founded. Were it not attached in an undeniably sexual place, and had you not had months to verify the correlation between her moaning into your shoulder and it twitching against you, you'd have guessed it to be...

Oh who are you kidding, you've seen enough hentai to know a friendly tentacle when you see one.

You remind yourself once again not to be That Guy. You simultaneously refuse to allow yourself enough time to ponder what all that entails. Don't be an asshole is the important bit. You knew your girlfriend was an alien, you knew things were bound to get at least a little weird, and the time to object was at least one year, two months, thirteen days, and seventeen hours ago, when it became clear this was a serious thing as opposed to a couple kisses to piss her ex off.

As Karkat helpfully pointed out earlier, that freighter has long since left the docking station.

All the self-awareness and reminders in the world don't stop you from flinching slightly when her bulge twitches toward your face. Maybe it's because you're just instinctively expecting any proximity between your face and cock to be immediately followed by a cascade of plush at best and a face-full of toilet water and a sore scalp at worst. Maybe it's because you have an unrealized fear of eels. Either way, doesn't matter; you are still harder than the apparently diamond edges of Terezi's hipbones.

It's nice to finally get a look at them, after having been assaulted by them countless times during your journey.

"DON'T WORRY, 1 PL4N TO HONOR YOUR D1BS," she assures you. Clearly you flinched more than you thought, and she noticed. You're not sure whether she's actually misreading why you reacted, or pretending she did to let you save face, but either way you'll take it.

"good. dibs are not a force to be meddled with" You stare at the slowly undulating tentacle in front of you, trying to decide if you actually mean the next thought into your head, and then decide to say it either way once you glance up and remember again that you are sans shades and she can smell every motion of your eyes. "you can have a turn eventually though"

You can hear the eye roll in her tone of voice. You just wish you knew which part she was rolling over. "YOU R34LLY M34N 1T?"

Are you actually crazy enough over this girl to consider sucking dick for her?

"abso-fuckin-lutely babe"

You fucking hope so, because you like the idea of being pathetically enamored with her way more than you like the idea of being that desperate to get laid.

Memo to fucking self: not being That Guy also means serious shifts in that thought process.

She gives a cackle about how that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to her, then leans down to kiss you. The result is her bent in half over you, and you finally realizing she's actually _naked_ naked, and you're about as naked as you ever get outside the shower. You're not sure why that makes it any realer than all the discussion or grinding or watching her underwear go for a long jump record, but it does.

You reach up with one hand to cup her face, fingers brushing the edge of her ear as you twist your lips against hers until her tongue joins the action again. You reach up with the other, and though it takes a little awkward leaning on your part and some crouching and muffled giggles on hers, you grab your first ever handful of naked ass.

Somehow, it's not quite as climactic as the first grab of naked boob was, but you're not going to complain, either.

Her awkward crouching becomes squatting, then kneeling, and you don't let the kiss stop for even a second because it's keeping your focus away from the warm, wet teases of her bulge on your chest and stomach. Only once she's settled, straddling your lap, do you finally let the hand fall from her jaw to rest on her waist. Your fingers play at the edge of her pelvis as she purrs against your lips.

Then there's wet heat against your dick, and for a second you think you've already slipped into her. You pull from her lips, half-startled, half just needing air. Then cold air hits your tip again, Terezi's weight fully settling on your hips, and you realize she's just resting on you, your cock trapped under her crotch.

"1S TH3R3 4NYTH1NG YOUR HUM4N 3T1QU3TT3 D1CT4T3S W3 SHOULD S4Y?"

Rose had mentioned virginity isn't really a thing to trolls. You suppose "reproduce or die" would do that to a culture. A half dozen mushy as fuck options pop into your head, but you've only dropped the L bomb on Terezi a couple times, and suddenly bringing it up now just doesn't feel right. Some part of you thinks you should apologize for making her wait so long, but you have a two apology per year limit so you're already out of stock till you're 20, and anyway you're not about to let this shit get serious. You're about to have sex with your alien girlfriend you met through a galactic loophole inside a video game that caused the apocalypse, it is the single most ridiculous thing ever in the history of humanity.

"according to the internet you should say 'please be gentle with me'"

She lets out another wind-chime giggle, and you can feel the vibrations basically everywhere, and you are definitely not holding your breath right now to keep from groaning over it, no matter how tight your jaw might be clenched.

"DON'T WORRY, COOLK1D. 1'LL B3 G3NTL3 W1TH YOU."

Suddenly and inexplicably, you don't want her to be.

She rocks against you, leaving both of you to gasp, and holy demonic voidgods if this is how wet and slick things are from the outside you are not going to last a minute inside her. Whatever, you'll make it work - if your last few chicken-outs are any indication, it'll only take you a couple minutes to be ready to keep going, and it's not like you don't have hands in the mean time. Or maybe she'll be as hair-trigger as you? Rose didn't really cover that part. You hope not, or that she'll recover as fast if so, because round one hasn't even properly started and you're already digging the sounds of round three.

Her next rock is more awkward, and the next she lifts herself off your lap slightly, and it takes her low groans distorting into frustrated whimpers and one particularly forceful twitch of her bulge against your stomach to snap you out of your enjoyment and realize she's not trying to grind on you, she's having trouble getting this party started.

"D4V3," she whines, nails digging a little too hard into your shoulder. "COM3 ONNN…"

Right. Troll dicks move, and if she can restrain hers then presumably they can control them at least a little, which means she's at least subconsciously expecting you to just stick it in, just like that. You might have to re-think how much research you're assuming she's done, even though you're still sure it's more than the half-hour primer Rose dragged you through.

"hang on," you try to say, but it comes out more like a grunt because apparently your throat is a lot more dry than you remembered it being. You hold her hips tighter, try to help her shift right to point yourself into her, but between your inexperience and the fact your bodies weren't truthfully made to do this (thank Skaia for convergent evolution) it's just not working.

The fact you're still sitting ass-flat on the floor with your legs sprawled in front of you probably isn't helping either; the amount you can shift to help without losing your balance is fairly limited, and you don't feel like laying down either. Come to think of it, thrusting like this sounds like an adventure you don't want to endure. Who knew sex had logistics you had to think about?

You swallow, press a kiss to her cheek with the corner of your lips, and mumble, "couch or bed?"

"HUH?!" She jerks upward, startled, and for a confused second you think she just managed to finish the job from the change in angle, but it turns out to just be your dick slipping out from under her and rubbing against her bulge.

You clamp your eyes shut and try not to think about it, either conceptually or the very distractingly good sensation of it slowly rubbing against you. Your fingers slide up into her hair, pushing it back away from her face and ears as you rest your forehead to hers. Thumbs toying at the raised roots of her horns, you try repeating yourself. "couch or bed. this ain't gonna work on the floor"

Seconds later you realize it would, if you got on top, but pinning a sharp alien to a concrete floor while you fuck her for the first time sounds like two tickets for the express train to pain city. Not to mention you're not actually sure you've ever been the one on top of her while you've made out, so even conceptualizing missionary with Terezi is a harder puzzle than your brain can handle right now. Doggy, maybe. Maybe. But she has definitely been riding you in every version of this your imagination has played out in the last year and you're a fan of sticking to the plan, provided the plan is not lame, and there is no part of a plan involving getting laid that's lame.

You're so lost in your mental rambling that you almost miss her stammering "COUCH" and "HURRY" before going in for another kiss. Before you have a chance to ask how you're supposed to hurry with her kissing you, she's pulled away again, and you completely fail to hide the whine as your dick is left to the mercy of cold laboratory air again. You manage to get to your own feet without bumping into any part of her or tripping over your jeans, which decide to obey just enough gravity to bunch around your knees. You shove them the rest of the way down and toss them on the far side of the couch, leaving you in only your hiked-down boxers, which you are definitely leaving on because losing your virginity in Mickey Mouse boxers is the height of irony.

There's a full head of height between you when you lean down to kiss her, and you're still not used to it because that gap was two inches at best for your first kiss. Maybe that's why you like her on your lap so much, because then she's the one leaning down to kiss you and it just feels more natural, more appropriate. You can't even pretend she's not the one in charge of everything between you two, save meals and retarded short movies. You don't want to pretend it.

"your honor," you say formally, putting on your best straight face.

"S1R KN1GHT," she answers, wrapping her arms around your neck. Her body presses tight to yours, and your arms fasten around her waist, holding her that close. "TO TH3 COUCH, 4T ONC3."

It's a ten second breath of fresh air you needed, a laugh you needed, just enough time to clear your mind of any lingering nerves and the last traces of "do I want this or is it just posthumous peer pressure" that you'll never admit out loud were even a factor. Hell, right now you don't even care that her bulge is definitely trying to wrap around your dick like an anaconda, other than that it is making it very hard to hold your poker face.

You pick your legs up off the floor - because like hell do you actually know how your God Tier powers work even to this day - effortlessly hoist her up with you, and fly the whopping six feet backward to the couch behind you, intentionally falling the last couple inches so she bounces on your lap as you settle into the cushions.

Your back leans into the couch, leaving enough space between the two of you for your arm to sneak down crotchways. Your jaw clenches when the slight heat of her bulge tickles at your wrist, then tries to wrap around your arm, the tip twitching indecisively against your skin like it doesn't know which way to coil. The slight squeeze is more arousing than it has any right to be, and the flicker of her eyelashes as she lets out an urgent, huffed sigh of a moan is somehow the hottest expression she's ever worn.

She licks her lips audibly and whispers your name, her voice a deep rasp. Her hand grabs your arm just below your elbow, at least one nail breaking your skin as she tries to hold your arm still or maybe steer it, but you barely even wince. Your hand is already wrapped around your dick, your tip already nestled between her shallow folds, and it's only how mesmerized you are by her reactions keeping you from plunging in. You're sure that right now she feels the same way you did about her hand around your cock earlier, and knowing she's enjoying the hell out of wrapping her dick around your arm manages to outweigh any remaining unease you might feel.

Then, without warning, the combined effort of your guidance and her rocking bury you head-deep inside her, and there's no room left inside your nervous system for unease, there is only room for pleasure and disoriented attempts at interpreting her shrill moaning. She quiets again just as quickly, drawing in sharp breaths, squeezing your arm in time with her breathing.

You open your mouth to ask if she's okay, but no noise comes out, leaving you to swallow and search for breath. You know she's fine, you know she'd tell you if she wasn't, you know you'd probably be in a ton of pain if she was in any because she's already not careful with her nails. But she's not moving like you'd expect her to, or coming in for another kiss, and despite your entire sex education being pornhub videos and grunted discussions over Xbox controllers, you're pretty sure you're supposed to wait for her to say she's ready before you continue.

"what about trolls?" you ask, your voice totally not cracking.

"HUH?" Her voice is distant, and you realize her silence was probably her taking in the sensation, and now you feel like a jerk for snapping her out of it, but you always have been the king of moodkill. "WH4T 4BOUT US?"

Carefully you let go of your dick, letting your fingers slip along her slickened slit. The motion is surprisingly instinctive, though you feel somewhere between overwhelmed and lost when there's no clit or even other fleshy bits to rub or play with, there's only the sudden curve of the root of her bulge. Your fingers can't make anatomical sense of it, and your mind doesn't really want to right now, so you let them trail up the edge of her thigh to more familiar ground as you answer her. "yknow. is there anything id say to you right now if i were a troll?"

Her sigh is a familiar one, loving but exasperated, and yeah, ok, an inch into your first time is probably not the time nor place to be cracking jokes. Then her hands rest on your chest, and you can feel her legs quivering from the effort of holding herself just so above you as she leans forward, climbs one set of claws to rest along your neck, licks your cheek, and whispers, "PROB4BLY SOM3TH1NG L1K3, HURRY UP, TH3 DRON3S W1LL B3 H3R3 1N THR33 M1NUT3S."

You try very, very hard to regret asking, because for a split instant in time you almost feel sad at that statement, and only manage not to because a half dozen bucket jokes are crowding through the presently narrow portal to your awareness and manage to plug the entryway before any angst even checks the map to see if it's at the right brain lobe. You only manage to utter a single, "oh," at her words, and even that is drowned out by her chuckling against your cheek.

You try even harder to understand why she's laughing.

She chooses that instant to push down on you, and your arms race to wrap around her, pressing her closer instinctively and protectively and desperately and _closely_.

Suddenly, there is nothing in the world but heat and tight and wet and it is every bit like climbing into a hot tub after a shit day except 300x better and custom made to pamper your dick. A breathy, enthusiastic laugh near your ear is the only other thing you're even aware of - maybe, distantly, her weight on your thighs and stomach, but those sensations seem irrelevant, like bits of someone else's conversation bleeding over the music blaring on your headphones.

Her nails sink lightly into your hairline, her arm resting on your shoulder for stability. Your name crosses her lips again as another muffled whisper against your skin. Your hips jerk of their own accord, drawing you out of her and slamming back in by an inch at best. She yelps, not the pained sound of a dog kicked but the delighted squeak of someone whose hiding spot has just been found and now knows the race to base is on. You echo her, not out of actual sensation but just instinctive reaction to the noise, and then try to make her do it again. That stroke brings a different noise - less startled, but equally excited.

You've known for some time that Terezi has a vocabulary of laughter as diverse as the flavors she obsesses over, and that the variety of noises she makes while you're touching her could be equally impressive. Now you're left wondering how many more of those noises you'll get to earn hearing before you're too exhausted to continue for the night.

You press your lips to her neck and murmur some encouraging profanity against her damp skin, then dig your toes into the floor and let the fucking begin in earnest.

It takes some practice to get a rhythm going, and the fact both of you are having to fight instinct to move in compatible motions doesn't help. She barely wants to move, doing little more than rolling her hips whenever she loses herself to the pleasure too much to try harder. Most of her more concrete motions just seem to be trying to push you deeper into her - it's obvious why when you realize her bulge was nearly double your length, but at the same time, she seems almost distressed when you're that far into her. Your dick is aware of a change in angle that you bottom out against, a spot where the texture changes, and where it seems you can press just a bit further when she leans back on your lap, until you're the one who's run out of space, not her.

Somehow, even with that extra sensation, it's not as nice having her arching backwards as she rides you instead of nestled up against your neck where you can feel every breath right up on your ear.

Then her desperate hold on your shoulder for balance becomes nails groping urgently down your arm becomes a desperate hold on your hand instead, and you're not sure whether your metacarpals or the skin on the back of your hand are gonna give first under her grip. You really don't care because the squeeze of her fingers pulses with every roll of your hips, which just makes you buck harder, and it is a glorious sensory feedback loop that you would be content to let coda forever. Possibly even ecstatic.

"44H… D-D444V3…"

Okay, definitely fucking ecstatic.

Tight and wet have long stopped being adequate adjectives to describe everything little Dave is enjoying right now. You're going to have to borrow a dictionary from Rose later to figure it out. And maybe ask her a few more questions about troll anatomy, because the motion of the pussy around you definitely feels more vigorous than you'd expect mere muscle squeezes to be. But you are so not thinking about dictionaries or your sister or anatomy lessons while your girlfriend takes a meat popsicle ride, even if those are wonderfully distracting subjects that would be amazingly effective at keeping you from busting a nut too quickly. Except, what if trolls had some weird manners about these things, like where holding back would be considered rude or a spadey thing or-

Yeah, definitely should have asked Rose what trolls considered fast, especially because even the word spade is a couple degrees past the distracting territory and into south side of the tracks _nurse we need sloppy makeouts stat, we're losing him_neighborhood, but hey fortunately for both of you, a quick tug on her arm and the TZ's Tongue Express is right on schedule so you never actually make it to the crossi-

Oh sweet mother of satan, serrated teeth grazing against your jaw feeling that amazing has got to be against several natural laws. So does talons sliding against the grain of your hair, and maybe bony ankles pressed to your thighs and toes curling against the inside of your knees, though that last one you suspect is more normal and just in that long list of things you never expected to notice about sex.

She lets go of your hand, grabbing at the couch behind your head instead. It takes you a second to shake the feeling back into your fingers - wow, it's so easy to forget how much stronger trolls actually are than humans - then you do the only logical thing to do when you've got a lady's arms wrapped up around your neck and her cooch wrapped up around your cock.

You grab the shit out of her ass with both hands, pressing her torso closer to yours, and help her thrust against you. Short, quick jerks of her hips become long, smooth motions, not as fast as you'd really like but working your full length in each stroke. It only takes a few seconds to realize why her own motions were so ragged - now you're the one feeling too good to move past instinct, and your arms stutter every few lifts.

The muscles of her thighs and ass tighten and soften with your thrusts, following along, learning the pattern and making it easier on you, but you're sure if you let go right now she wouldn't manage anything more than those short bucks on your lap again. Her voice is all vowels and sounds that have no corresponding letters in your alphabet but probably also count as vowels, long and eager and punctuated only by the need to breathe. Even that has taken on a different tone now, deeper and somehow more trusting, like a sigh in reverse.

...She's enjoying riding you too much to bother smelling you. There is something in all of paradox space that she finds more enticing than the scent of candy red at this exact instant, and that is fucking you.

That realization races from your brain to your crotch in the form of molten heat so quickly that your heart gets caught in the sonic boom and skips a couple beats.

_Shit._

"f-fuck-"

You wanted to be able to warn her, to ask if you should pull out or not, to get her off first like a proper coolguy because only assholes leave their ladies hanging, but you barely have enough time to shove your lips up against hers to minimize any stupid noises or faces you might make before your spine goes rigid. Her hips try to jerk without your hands, and you try and fail to hold her still, and your stomach and her bulge twitch against each other-

And you're barely aware of any of it, because for a number of seconds you can, shockingly, only guess at, even the ticking of time is distant and you can feel only satisfaction so intense it almost hurts.

Then the fog starts to lift and you pull back from her lips to breathe and there's the taste of blood but you don't know or care whose, and she's saying something but you can't hear it over the pounding of your pulse in your ears but nothing hurts except your lip a little so it can't be anything bad and _oh god_ you shudder again as you spurt another shot of jizz into her, _into_ her, oh god oh god, _fuck_ you can feel her milking you dry and yes what she was saying is definitely some form of your name and-

Her hand wrestles its way between the two of you, tangling hurriedly with her bulge. Oh. That's probably what she was trying to say something about. Her cock is probably feeling left out of the party, even if it has left a slick, wet squiggle across both your stomachs from where it's been squirming between you the whole time.

Your own dick gives another twitch, takes your hips along for the ride, but you've got no ammo left so only a shaky gasp comes out of you. You're spent, but her nook seems very determined to keep squeezing you none the less. For the moment it's still pretty nice, if not a bit intense, but you don't have long before things will become painful and you would really love to finish this before that so you can at least delude yourself into thinking you did things proper and got your girl off the first time you fucked her.

Which means you sure as fuck better be the one getting her off.

Later you'll ponder how many levels of the maturity escheladder losing your virginity just shot you. For right now, your hand sneaks in between you both, finds a section of her bulge her hand isn't wrapped around, tries to squeeze it in the same too-tight way she wrung you earlier. She hisses like it smarts, then trills like it does the exact opposite, and her length is definitely grinding into your palm with long slow snaking twists. Your fingers glide over bumps you didn't know were there until now, up then down, the motion mostly her and only half a dazed inch from you.

She lets out a high moan, desperate and frustrated, and then grabs your hand with hers. She tangles your fingers and herself around each other like a cats cradle, fills in the blanks with her own hand, guides you in a short rhythm that matches the slight grind of her hips on yours. You glance down to try and make sense of it, to remember it, but everything is still too bright and too distant and you can feel the slick heat wrapped around your thumb and forefingers better than you can see the too-bold teal smearing on your hand. You look to her face instead - at her mouth hanging out in an expression of concentration and breathlessness, at the bright dots of your blood on her almost-black lips, at how the flat red of her eyes is turned toward the ceiling, her throat bared before you.

You press your lips there on instinct, squeezing her harder as you press messy kisses to her cool skin. Your hand gets pinned between you, knuckles pressed below her sternum, and you can feel her muscles giving strained twitches. But more than that, you can feel, not just hear but actually follow by vibration alone, her moaning as it falls from her mouth to her throat to her chest and settles as that purring rumble. Your arm moves up her back, holding her there so you can feel it from both sides, and maybe a bit out of fear she'll tumble off your lap if you don't support her.

Her free hand clambers searchingly between your shoulder and the couch and back. There's a click, and something soft flops across your shoulder and her hold, but you ignore it in favor of licking her neck harder. You're shaking from the strain, bracing yourself for the blissful torment you're - hopefully - about to put your half-hard length through while trying not to let your spread-thin mind get that far ahead. Your hold your own breath as you feel her throat jerk under your lips, a single strangled squeak escaping above you. Her spine stiffens, shudders, seizes under your hand; her bulge squeezes your other, its grip insistent but weak.

Then she's limp against you, all gasps and yowls and yells, her head pushing past yours to rest on your shoulder. You bite back your own sounds as she shivers against and around you, again and again, her moans slowly giving way to tired giggles.

You're soaked. Your hand, your stomach, your boxers, all of it, and you finally breathe to help push away the distant _eww_ in your mind because it feels like water if water was thick like oil and not a thing like what you know it is. You're going to ignore it for now because it feels like success, in the same way her exhausted weight against you feels like victory and maybe a little like being entirely smitten.

(There's fatigue and a threat of soreness somewhere in there too, but you've got more important things to think about right now.)

You let the couch hold you both up for a minute. A lot of breath needs catching.

"1 TR13D TO…" she pants quietly against your shoulder, pulling at the soft thing you were aware of near your shoulder. You glance over and become vaguely aware that it's a towel, and realize she means she tried to save you from the flash flood, and for some reason that makes you smile a little.

"thanks," you murmur, voice quieter than you mean for it to be. Then, after a little thought, "its chill."

It's not the perfect post-coital one liner you'd hoped to deliver, but sometimes discretion is the better part of irony, and it is definitely way more authentic than _"was it good for you"_ would have been. Plus there'll be plenty of time to use that one.

Terezi sighs contently against you, and it's almost strange to hear that kind of happiness out of her, soft and placid instead of in your face. You've got to be careful, it's the kind of thing a guy could really get used to.

"SO… W4S 1T GOOD FOR YOU?"


End file.
